Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/62

 I am true love that false was never; My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus. Because we would in no wise dissever I left my kingdom glorious. I purveyed her a palace full precious; She fled, I followed, I loved her so That I suffered this pain piteous Quia amore langueo.

My fair love and my spouse bright! I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet; I clothed her in grace and heavenly light; This bloody shirt she hath on me set; For longing of love yet would I not let; Sweete strokes are these: lo! I have loved her ever as I her het Quia amore langueo.

I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn; I led her to chamber and she me to die; I brought her to worship and she me to scorn; I did her reverence and she me villany. To love that loveth is no maistry; Her hate made never my love her foe: Ask me then no question why— Quia amore langueo.

Look unto mine handes, man! These gloves were given me when I her sought; They be not white, but red and wan; Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought. They will not off; I loose hem nought:

het] promised.